


Thunder

by Sophia_Bee



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, BAMF Erik, Charles Always Says the Absolute Worst Thing He Could Possibly Say, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Thunder and Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is eighteen, Charles is sixteen. They are best friends. One night during a huge thunderstorm, everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> note the tags for possible triggers but they don't play heavily into the storyline.

Charles runs. He can feel his heart pounding and his legs aching and his chest aching for breath, but he still runs, faster than he’s ever run before, arms pumping, feet hitting the ground. The sky above him lights up as jagged lightning streaks across it, lighting up everything around him as bright as day for only long enough for Charles to blink it all away, and he sees the trees reaching out for him. He runs, his sweater snagging on a patch of brambles, and he vaguely notes the sound of ripping. Then there is thunder, deep and rumbling, shaking the world around him.

He knows the Xaviar estate backwards and forwards, often taking refuge on the immense grounds on those nights when both Kurt and his mother have had too much to drink and Charles can’t make out the words they throw at each other but can hear their angry voices, echoing through the deserted halls, hear his mother scream as fist meets bone. If he and Cain were actually friends he could ask him how he gets through those nights, how he manages to sleep.

Charles can’t sleep, so he often puts on his slicker and heads out into the darkness of the estate, a flashlight in hand. He tromps across soft, loamy ground, smelling rich of dirt and dying things, stops at the creek to look for frogs along the bank, sometimes ends up curled on the leaf covered ground under the shelter of a lean-to he built when he was eleven. Staff come in the morning to find him, shaking him gently and Charles mumbles something and curls even tighter against the cold until the housekeeper tells him it’s all over and he can come home now.

Tonight is a different kind of escape and he can only run, splashing through the steam, ignoring his name being called behind him. The sky lights up again, the thunder claps.

It’s one of those nights, the sky filled with black, roiling clouds, the wind howlling, batting up against the thin glass windows of the estate. It’s the kind of night when Charles would usually huddle in his bed, wrapping the down comforter around his body, shivering from the cold that seems like it will never stop. This night starts out different. This night Erik is with him. Or he was.

Erik is his best friend. They’ve been best friends since Erik came to the academy halfway through Charles first year, starting late and a couple years older. The day he arrives Charles watches the way the older boy had carries himself, his narrow hips and long, loping stride, walking proudly with a confidence that Charles envies, giving anyone who dare meet his eyes a glare, and it made Charles fumble even more with his pencil that he usually keeps tucked behind an ear and pick nervously at his cardigan.

At lunch Charles, being friendly and blissfully unaware of most social nuances, sees Erik sitting alone and decides he's going to sit down across from the new boy. Erik flashes Charles a smile similar to one that might be given by a predatory shark who is about to tear apart its prey, but Charles, being blessed with the gift of at times being entirely obtuse only sees the smile and doesn't turn around and go the other way like most other people would. Instead he plops down in front of a frowning and mildly confused Erik Lehnsherr, commenting on the poor offerings for lunch provided by the cafeteria that day and the latest article that had caught his attention in Scientific American. Charles feels strangely self conscious as the older boy sizes him up, his gaze both unwavering and unnerving, and he chatters away, pretending not to notice that Erik only grunts monosyllabically every once in a while. He picks at his food and smile as Eriks scowls, and refuses to go away. Then he does the same thing the next day.

This is the beginning of their friendship.

It's an odd friendship. Charles is a prodigy, a child genius destined for greatness. He is soft and the kind of person made for museums and books. His skin is pale and freckled, his time spent in the library.

Erik is physically Charles’ opposite. He neither soft nor academic. Erik is big and tall and lean, his body muscled and made for sports, which he plays with grace that Charles could never in his dreams accomplish. He’s a bad boy. He stalks around school glaring at everyone and gets himself thrown in detention on a weekly basis. Despite being the star runner on the track and field team, he smokes and drinks in the bathroom between classes. He has Charles act as lookout as he gets stoned behind the field house between classes, and when the gym teacher stumbles on them and Charles is so surprised that he entirely forgets their warning whistle. They both end up in detention that week.

When he first starts hanging out with Erik more than one teacher pulls him aside and suggests he find different people to be friends with. Charles nods politely and ignores their concerns. He doesn’t want to find other friends. He wants to be friends with Erik.

Erick arrives in the winter and soon the snow is melting and the days start to get warmer, crocuses peeking out through leftover drifts of snow that are now tinged with dirt. One unseasonably warm Saturday Erik rolls up to the Xavier estate behind the wheel of a cherry red classic convertible with shining white walls and white leather seats, smiling at Charles in a devil-may-care manner, enjoying the way Charles’ mouth falls open. Erik flicks his cigarette as Charles gapes at him, and Erik looks somewhat proud of whatever he has done to procure this automobile.

Charles tries to give a low whistle of appreciation that ends up coming out sounding awkward and Erik looks at him like he might be a little endearing. Erik has a soft spot for Charles and all of his personality quirks.

"Where did you get this?" Charles asks, causing Erik to grin wider.

"Do you want to ask questions or do you want a ride?" Erik snarls through is grin. Charles decides on the latter. Ignorance is bliss.

Charles opens the passenger door, sliding across the smooth leather and belting himself in. Erik tosses his cigarette onto the driveway and Charles winces both because his friend really shouldn't smoke and because he anticipates yet another lecture from Sharon about his degenerate friend and how he litters on the estate.

They drive for a while, Erik silent, Charles staring out across the rolling countryside, lost in thought, enjoying the wind on his face. Erik pulls out another cigarette then puts it away after he notices Charles' disparaging glance from across the car. With the top down it's too noisy for conversation so Charles settles for glancing across the car every once in a while and studying Erik's stoic profile.

They end up pulling into a trailer court godknowswhere and Erik stops the car at one if the almost identical rusted and dilapidated mobile homes, some almost dead plants in hanging planters dangling off it’s porch and a loose dog wandering around the muddy ground outside.

A man comes out at the sound of the car stopping. A boy really, not more than a few years older than Erik. His hair is long and looks unwashed, his jeans are low on his hips and he slouches in a way that makes Charles suddenly think of sex, and the other man reaches under his plain white t-shirt and scratches casually at his belly, as if he has just gotten up and is still needing a good stretch. A cigarette dangles from his fingers and he watches Erik through hooded eyes as he takes a long drag. Erik calls his name and it's something like Teddy or Tommy, and he jumps out of huge car, not even bothering to open the door then turns back around, reaches into the back seat, grabbing something and tosses it onto the seat next to Charles.

"Wait for me," Erik says, his face more guarded than usual, "I shouldn't be long. I brought you some entertainment."

Erik nods towards whatever he'd tossed on the seat and Charles looks down to see the latest issue of Scientific American. Charles smiles. He looks back up, about to thank Erik for being so thoughtful and keeping quiet about the fact that he actually has a subscription and has already read this entire isssue, but Erik is making his way up the steps and the other man smiles and opens the creaking door of the mobile home, ushering Erik inside, and Charles notices that Tommy or Teddy has his hand on the small of Erik's back, and this bothers Charles in a vague way he can’t quite identify.

Twenty minutes later Erik returns, sliding behind the wheel of the convertible, glancing over at Charles and Charles notices that Erik's lips look a little swollen and his hair is a little mussed. Erik tosses a packet of weed on the seat between them.

"Got what I came for," he mutters, not looking at Charles as he turns the key in the ignition and the car roars to life and he speeds out of the trailer park, watching the road and not looking over at Charles. Charles gets the feeling that he is present for something Erik doesn’t entirely want him to know about, but he’s not quite sure what it is. Not quite yet.

Weeks later when Erik's foster family puts a lock on the fridge and won't give Erik money for food and Erik finally breaks down and asks Charles if he has twenty dollars he could have to buy lunch for the rest of the week, because he can’t keep shoplifting food from the local market, out of curiosity and not really thinking Charles blurts out, "but...how do you buy your weed?"

Erik looks at him darkly and Charles remembers the hand if that man-boy on Erik's back and his bruised lips, and he knows the answer before Erik even says anything "I trade for it."

“Oh.”

Charles gives Erik forty dollars and starts bringing him food from the mansion pantry.

When the convertible pulls back into the driveway of the Xaviar mansion it's dusk and Erik shuts off the engine and turns to look at Charles. Suddenly Charles feels strangely self conscious and wants to reach up and smooth his wind- tousled hair and his hand comes up but Erik reaches across the car and touches Charles' wrist lightly causing Charles to freeze.

"Don't," Erik says softly, watching Charles carefully, "you look good in a convertible."

Charles can't ignore the thrill that runs through him and the feel of Erik's fingers on his wrist, and they stare at each other, silent, then the moment slips away and Erik drops his wrist, laughing nervously, saying that maybe Sharon should buy him one and it could increase his chances of actually getting a girlfriend. Ha ha.

Erik spends more and more time at the Xaviar estate.

This happens after Erik arrives at school one day with a huge purplish bruise blooming across his cheek.

"My god, Erik," Charles gasps when he sees him and Erik looks away, looking uncomfortable. "What happened?"

"It's none of your fucking business," Erik hisses and his whole body is tense and coiled, as if he wants to punch someone, and if Charles glances down he might noticed that his friend’s hands are clenched into fists. His eyes refuse to meet Charles’ and he looks at the locker, at the floor, anywhere but at Charles.

Charles is sometimes completely incapable of reading interpersonal cues, and this one of those times as his concern for Erik overrides his ability to take note of how his friend avoids his gaze and turns away from him and act accordingly. Instead of letting it go, which is clearly, from Erik's body language what he wants Charles to do, Charles plows forward, telling Erik they are friends and it certainly is his business and if his foster father did this, there are authorities this can reported to. Charles doesn't stop to think that this is Erik's fifth foster home in so many years, each one worse than the one before, and for Erik there are worse things that can happen than a punch to the face, and if he reports his foster father he’ll most likely get moved and maybe Erik likes it where he is for some reason. Erik just stares at Charles as he goes on, gesturing wildly with his hands, his eyes sparking blue with anger and Erik's mouth grows tighter and thinner until he finally bursts out at Charles in a sort of anger that Charles has never experienced from his friend.

"Shut up, Charles. I walked into a fucking door, alright!"

Erik is almost yelling and students turn and stare, but Erik is only looking at Charles, his eyes full of pain and truth. Then he storms off leaving Charles standing in the busy hallway in shock. The shock lasts for mere seconds then Charles trails after Erik, calling his name along with, "I'm sorry."

He follows Erik, through the hallways, never losing sight of him as he makes his way through the warren-like halls of their ancient school, until he finds himself at the entrance of the boys locker room. Charles pushes carefully inside and it smells like sweat and teenage boys, and Charles wrinkles his nose, entirely unfamiliar with the milieu of a high school gym locker.

The lights are off but the morning sunshine is shining through windows that are high up on the walls, and Charles knows that no one will be here for hours, not until the students start to head to their physical education courses where they will do calisthenics and learn the art of badminton and lawn bowling, like all children of well-to-do families should, in order to be able to play games and sip cold bottles of boutique beer on lazy afternoons in the Hamptons.

Erik is sitting on one of the benches, lit by a patch of sunlight. Sitting isn’t right. He’s almost crouched, looking like he could spring up any moment, his knees pulled up and he has wrapped his arms around them, and as Charles enters the room, he looks up. Charles’ breath hitches because he sees a side of Erik he’s never seen before. All of the anger is gone and his friend looks entirely vulnerable, wrecked, and his eyes are shining with tears. Charles crosses the room to sit on the bench next to Erik. The other boy shivers a little but he doesn’t move away, despite everything about his body that tells Charles he really wants to run away, he just lets Charles sit next to him. The room is deathly quiet and Charles can hear the steady drip, drip, drip of water coming from the shower room nearby, echoing in the silence. Slowly he lifts his hand, reaches out and touches the bruise, his eyes closing when Erik flinches. His fingers are soft, barely even caressing the mottled skin and when Charles opens his eyes again, Erik is looking at him. Their eyes stay locked together.

“I didn’t clear the dinner plates fast enough,” Erik says softly.

“Oh, Erik,” Charles sighs heavily. He half expects Erik to move his head away, but he doesn’t, and they stay like that, Charles sitting next to Erik, his fingers tracing over the bruise, willing it away. “You can come stay with me.”

“I can’t,” Erik says quietly. “My foster parents get money for me. If I come stay with you, they’ll report me as a runaway and I’ll be moved again, to a new home, a new school, and I won't see you and, I can’t...I just can’t…” Erik looks at Charles plaintively, "I like it here."

Suddenly Charles understands how much Erik has to lose and why he's willing to take a punch in the face, and part of it is he doesn't want to lose Charles. This knowledge rocks Charles to the core. He reaches out and wraps his thin arms around his friend, pulling him close and rocking him, shushing him, not caring that this isn’t entirely the typical kind of thing friend do for each other.

Erik cannot come live with Charles but his foster parents are happy to have him out of their hair several days a week, so he comes to stay at the estate regularly and Charles shows Erik the room that has been designated as his.

"You can spend the night any time," Charles says excitedly, and Erik smiles at him, that same toothy smile, but this time it's actually happy.

"Are you sure your mother won't care," Erik asks.

"Sharon is too drunk most of the time to care," Charles answers, sounding a little sad but mostly matter of fact, "she'll probably think you're one of the staff. The pool boy, or something. Kurt lets me do what he want as long as I don't get in the way of him smacking my mother around."

"Oh, Charles," Erik says heavily.

Charles shrugs, "we all have our burdens."

Erik becomes a regular fixture at the Xaviar mansion. This thrills Charles to no end, and he and Erik start to slowly inch towards something beyond friendship that Charle can’t entirely define.

“You should go to college,” Charles says one night, lying on his belly across the foot of Erik’s bed, his chin resting in his hands.

“College is for people like you, not people like me.” Erik answers, not glancing up from the book he’s reading.

“People like me?” Charles echoes.

“Yes, child genius. You. Oxford gets a hard-on just thinking about you. I’m destined for the gas station down the road.”

Charles frowns. He hates this about Erik, hates that he perpetually thinks less of himself. That’s why he’s so destructive, proving to everyone that he knows how worthless he is before they can tell them. Erik Lehnsherr is always one step ahead of everyone.

“Yet, you’re better read than anyone in my advance placement classes,” Charles says, nodding at Erik’s book. Erik looks over it to gaze at Charles.

“I can read during my breaks at the gas station,” Erik says smugly, not willing to let Charles best him on this subject. Heaven forbid should anyone tell Erik he’s worth something. Charles keeps watching Erik and chews on his lip, and finally Erik puts down his book again and directs his gaze at Charles.

“What?” Erik says, sounding irritated.

“Nothing,” Charles says, “it’s just you are a very interesting person, Erik Lehnsherr.”

Charles loves the days that Erik is with him at the mansion. They swim in the giant pool at the back of the house, splashing around, and Charles fills Erik up with all kinds of good food that he convinces the cook to make. He leaves books on Erik’s nightstand that he knows he’ll enjoy and notes days later that they’ve been opened left dog-eared. He tucks packages of snacks, mostly nothing healthy, into Erik’s book bag, chips and licorice and a few apples, knowing that once Erik leaves his domain he’ll be back to that house, back to the locked fridge and the ever present threat of being hit if he makes a misstep.

They stay up late, eating junk food and watching movies, Charles curled closely to Erik on the deep leather couches that occupy what has become the TV room but was probably a study or library at one point. He likes how warm Erik is, and he thinks that maybe he should scoot to the other end of the couch, but Erik never protests, so Charles stays, and once he even dips his head and rest it on Erik’s shoulder, mumbling something about being tired, and this is a nice place to just rest, and Erik’s hand comes up around his shoulder and softly strokes it.

They inch closer.

Erik has nightmares, or maybe they’re night terrors, because terrorized is how Erik sounds as he screams out some of the nights that he stays over. Most likely no one else hears because the mansion is vast and there is no love lost in this family, which is shown by the fact that their rooms are spread wide apart. Charles does hear him, because Erik is just down the hall, and he throws on his robe and pads down the worn ancient carpet, bursts into Erik’s room to find his friend yelling at some invisible ghosts, striking out. Taking a deep breathe, Charles plunges in, throwing his arms around Erik and Erik jerks in surprise as his unfocused eyes shift around the room then come to rest on Charles’ face.

“Charles?” He asks, “are you really here?”

It’s as if no one is ever there for the boy, left on his own to fight his own demons, and Charles wraps his arms tightly around Erik’s shaking torso and pulls him closer, making hush sounds, running a soothing hand in circles over the thin t-shirt that Erik had worn to bed.

“I’m here,” Charles says.

He holds Erik, sobbing, shaking and fragile, not asking what the nightmare was about, but thinking that being someone who is typically devoted to reason and peaceful solutions, he’d gladly kill whoever had made Erik have these nightmares. After a long while Erik’s sobbing subsides and he relaxes in Charles’ arms and Charles lowers him to the bed, not letting him go, then curls up against his side and holds him like that until he feels Erik’s breathing become deep and slow, and he knows his friend has finally fallen asleep. Charles studies Erik’s sleeping face in the gray light of the moon that leaks through the heavy velvet curtains and he’s struck by a sudden urge to close the distance and place a soft kiss on first one of Erik’s eyelids then the other. Charles shakes his head at the oddness of this thought and thinks that maybe this is how a person feels when they love someone, because he knows that he does love Erik. He’s the best friend he’s ever had and he can’t help but love him. After gazing at Erik for a long time, Charles shifts himself to get more comfortable, tucks his head into Erik’s chest and falls asleep himself.

Neither of them ever talk about the fact that they wake up together the next morning. They don’t talk about a lot of things that they do. It’s like they’ve created their own world when they’re together at the mansion and it has different rules than everyone else outside.

Then that night arrives. The night of the storm. The night that everything will change.

It’s been raining all afternoon, but it’s not anything notable, just a light drizzle that makes everything damp. Charles is doing his homework when the housekeeper pokes her head into his room and tells him that Erik is here to see him. Charles ignores the his heart leaps and drops his pencil, no longer caring about long integers, and heads to greet his friend.

Erik is standing in the foyer looking damp and a bit bedraggled. He’s not wearing a coat but his familiar backpack is slung over his shoulder, and his shoes are covered in mud. Charles practically runs up to him and throws his arms around him, so happy to see Erik, not noticing that his friend winces as Charles hugs him.

“I thought I wouldn’t see you until Saturday,” Charles says happily. Erik gives him a sad look.

“I...I didn’t finish all the chores the right way,” Erik stammers, grimacing, and that’s when Charles realises that his embrace is hurting Erik. His happiness quickly slips away.

“Did he hit you?”

Erik nods and lifts the hem of his t-shirt to show Charles a series of purple bruises and Charles reaches out to touch them, muttering darkly.

“Can I stay?” Erik asks.

“Of course,” Charles says. “My home is yours, my friend. Always. Let’s get you some dry clothes.”

An hour later they are sitting in Charles’ room, a fire in the ancient fireplace, Erik dressed in Cain’s clothes.

“They look better on you than him,” Charles says softly, wanting to wipe away the pain that doesn’t seem to be able to leave Erik’s eyes tonight.

“I hit him back this time,” Erik says, his voice distant, “Then I just left, and, they’re going to report me as a runaway.”

“Erik,” Charles says, pleading, hating to see his friend so scared, “I’ll help you. We’ll find a way out of this.”

“There is no way,” Erik says, turning to face Charles. “I’ve been around long enough to know that once you hit back you’ll be moved, and that means that I...I will lose you.”

Charles fights back his tears.

“At least you’re here,” he says quietly. “With me. What do you want to do tonight? Anything you want. Anything, my friend.”

Erik grins wickedly at Charles. “Let’s get drunk.”

It’s like most nights in the Xaviar household. Kurt is away on a business trip and Cain is out with some friends on the football team. Sharon is sitting in the study, slouched in a leather armchair, a glass of gin in her hand. Charles knows she’ll be there all night, drinking until she can’t stand up and one of the staff will take pity on her and hoist her to her room to sleep it off so she can get up and do it all over again.

Sharon doesn’t lock her liquor cabinet. If she had any motherly instinct she might make an effort to care that her teenage son might decide to borrow from her collection, but she doesn’t really care. This makes it easy for Charles to snag a half drank bottle of fancy sounding brandy. He hands it to Erik, who reads the label and looks impressed, then uncaps it and takes a swig.

“Ahhhhh,” Erik says, shaking his head, “that’s more like it.”

They sit together in Charles’ room, which is more like a suite, with a bedroom and a sitting area, passing the bottle between them, taking swig after swig until Charles starts to feel himself get delightfully spinny. Erik pulls out a bag of weed from his pants pocket and rolls a joint then offers it to Charles. Charles shakes his head. He’ll leave getting both stoned and drunk to the more experienced. Right now the brandy is doing it’s job and he feels warm and relaxed as he gazes at Erik through lowered eyelids. The fire is getting low and letting off an orange glow, and Erik is so strong and handsome and dare Charles say, delicious looking, and because of the alcohol, this thought doesn’t give Charles the start it normally does and he doesn’t push it back down, just lets it float along the surface of his mind. Charles is about to tell this to Erik, to admit to him and himself that he might like nothing more than to lean forward and taste the skin at the hollow in the base of his throat when Erik flashes him a sudden smile.

“I know,” Eriks says quickly, then takes a drag of his joint.

“What?” Charles asks, speaking carefully so as to not appear as drunk as he feels. He waits as Erik holds in the smoke from his joint then blows it out towards Charles, and Charles briefly wonders about the possibility of a contact high.

“Chess!” Erik says triumphantly. “Let’s play chess.”

“Chess?” Charles says, confused.

“You’re in chess club, right?” Erik says.

“You make fun of me being in chess club.” Charles says warily, still wondering where this is going.

“Only because you don’t play it drunk and stoned.”

“Ooookay,” Charles says slowly, humoring his friend “Chess.”

He finds his chess set,tucked into a trunk by the window, pulls it out and they proceed to play several rounds of the most atrocious chess Charles has ever played, but he also notices that Erik is equally, if not more, impaired, and despite the games being terrible when it comes to skill and strategy, he’s able to match Charles move for move.

It’s only when Erik smiles in an even more wicked manner and suggests they up the ante and make it a game of strip chess that Charles falls back onto the expensive threadbare oriental rug that sits in front of his fireplace in a fit of giggles.

“Who has ever heard of strip chess?” Charles guffaws. Erik’s eyes narrow at the sight of Charles practically rolling around the room in mirth.

“Okay,” Erik says slowly, and his voice entirely steady, “Another game. This time you pick.”

Charles stops laughing and looks at Erik.

“What something you play at those godawful parties you go to? You know, the ones with kegs of beer and drunk girls that I’m never invited to.”

Erik blushes. Wait, what does it mean that Erik is blushing. Charles can’t think so he reaches for the almost empty brandy bottle and drains the remainder of its contents, feeling the alcohol burn down the back of his throat.

“Spin the bottle?” Eriks says, cocking an eyebrow.

“No,” Charles almost whines. “Not with two people.” He feels hot and he has to take a piss.

“Truth or dare?”

“YES!” Charles almost yells, jumping up excitedly. “Truth or dare. Let’s play that one. But after I go to the bathroom. Wait here.”

When Charles stumbles back, Erik has moved from the sitting room and is lying stretched out on Charles’ bed.

“I couldn’t stay sitting any longer,” Erik says languidly, by way of explanation, as if utilizing Charles bed was the only obvious option for someone who no longer wanted to stay seated. Charles blinks at the older boy lying back, his hands behind his head as he watches Charles. Without protest, Charles crawls across the end of the bed and stretches next to Erik then looks at him.

“Better?” Charles asks.

“Better,” Eriks answers, his voice sounding a little raw, and maybe it’s the weed he’s been smoking all night making him hoarse.

“You start.” he says to Erik. He hears Erik sigh.

“Okay. Truth.”

“Truth,” Charles repeats.

“Did you finish your homework?”

Charles rolls his eyes, “Seriously. Homework. “No. I did not. Not when you showed up. It can wait until tomorrow”

Now it’s Charles’ turn. He decides to go for the jugular, to make this game really interesting.

“Truth.” he says.

“Truth,” Erik repeats.

“Why are you my friend?”

Erik is silent, as if this game is not entirely what he’d anticipated and Charles finds that he’s holding his breath, waiting for the answer, dreading it a little. The wind outside starts to howl, an eerie sound like there could be ghosts out in the darkness and it makes Charles shiver a little and he shifts a little closer to Erik, craving his warmth.

“You are kind,” Erik finally says softly, “I never wanted to be your friend, but you sat down and refused to be intimidated by me. And you’ve been taking care of me ever since, and it has taken more than you’ll ever know to accept your friendship and not just run away. Not many people have been kind to me. I’ve never had a friend like you and now I’m going to lose you, and i don’t know what to do.”

The last words come out choked. Charles can’t breathe. He’d expected something flip to emerge from Erik’s mouth, maybe something about how having Charles around guarantees Erik will get all the girls, but instead Erik gave him the gift of raw honesty.

“Oh, my friend,” Charles sighs and captures Erik’s hand in his. “I’ve given you nothing more than you deserve, and you deserve everything.”

They stare at each other for a long moment and Erik is the first one to look away, clearing his throat. Then Erik seems to have had enough of truth, so he insists the next one be a dare, and even more exasperatingly, he insists Charles take another turn. Charles senses that Erik needs this from him, needs some space, so he agrees. He lies next to Erik, still holding hands, looking at his face, watching his eyes, trying to think of something to dare the other boy to do. He knows whatever he says, Erik will do. Erik enjoys a challenge more than most people and has very few boundaries. Charles wracks his brain, trying to think of a dare.

He thinks of Erik. Of how he is so hard on the outside, never letting anyone inside, pushing everyone away, but how he is so hurt on the inside. He looks at his friend who is watching him expectantly, and his eyes follow the line of his nose, the strength of his jaw, and he notes the gray-green storminess of his eyes. Charles bites his lip and he realises that he’s lost track of his thoughts and has wandered on to Erik and how many things Charles likes about him. The brandy is buzzing through his veins and although he knows he should get back to the task at hand, his mind continues to wander, to Erik’s hands, big and strong, his legs, which have somehow become pressed against Charles’ and he realizes the space between them has shrunk even more.

“My dare,” Erik says softly, interrupting Charles revery, reminding him of the task at hand. Charles startles a little.

“Oh yes,” He says a little too quickly, “I dare you...I dare you to…”

He doesn’t way the words but his mind fills them in and they hang there, unspoken, and Charles thinks,

_I dare you to kiss me._

In that same moment he closes the distance that still exists between himself and Erik and he kisses his best friend directly on the lips, pressing softly, hesitantly. Erik’s eyes fly open and his hands come up and Charles, unable to stop himself runs his own hands down Erik’s arms, and he can feel Erik shaking as Charles pulls back, eyes wide, staring.

“Ohmygod,” Charles blurts out, horrified at what he’s done, fear coursing through him, and why did he do that, why did he lean forward and kiss him, why...“Erik, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I...I’m so sorry.”

Erik is still shaking, and he directs a look at Charles but Charles doesn’t stay to read it. He can’t. His heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest. He jumps off of bed and finds his shoes and dashes out of the room, ignoring the fact that Erik is behind him, shouting his name, shouting for him to stop.

That’s when Charles starts running.

Charles isn’t a runner. His sport his science and requires a lot of sitting and thinking. His legs aren’t strong and his mother has always told him he must be borderline asthmatic, but that doesn’t stop him. He pounds down the hallways of Westchester until he reaches the imposing front doors, then bursts out of them and sprints across the lawn. He can hear Erik behind him, calling his name, calling out for him to stop, and this spurs Charles on. He just kissed his best friend, and he might waste his time asking himself what this means just to pretend for a little longer that he doesn’t know, but that would deluding himself. He didn’t just kiss his best friend, he’s in love with him. Oh my god, he’s IN LOVE with Erik.

This is all so wrong.

This is how Charles finds himself running like a madman across the Xaviar estate as the skies open up and the rain pours down. Charles stumbles then falls forward, catching himself with his hands before he hits the ground with his body full-force. His palms hurt, embedded with dirt and small rocks, and he scrambles up then looks around. There’s a stand of trees past the stream and beyond that, the fence of the property. Charles looks behind him and sees that Erik is closer, bellowing his name.

“CHARLES!”

He takes off running again, terrified of what it means if Erik catches up with him, pumps his arms and runs through the trees, weaving in and out, until he reaches the barbed wire of the fence and stops. Charles is gasping for air, and his chest aches from exertion, and he blinks as the rain hits his face, clustering droplets on his eyelashes, wetting his hair, leaving it plastered against his forehead. He can’t run anymore, can’t even move and suddenly he’s overcome with weariness and he’s about to collapse when Erik comes running up to him, so fast that he has to stop quickly and almost bowls Charles over, then his arms are coming out to hold up Charles who is quickly folding towards the ground.

“Charles,” Erik gasps, winded and breathing hard, then he says his name again, as if it’s the only word he can conjure up. His arms are strong, holding Charles up, and Charles can’t stop the tears that start to flow.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to spit out, before he buries his face into Erik’s chest, feeling how good it feels against his cheek, memorizing it because it’s all he’s going to get. Then it’s like he’s unleashed a torrent, because the words won’t stop. “I’m so sorry and I didn’t mean to, and please, just forget that happened, because it will never happen again, I promise. I promise you, just please, still be my friend, because if you aren’t my friend, I won’t be able to bear it, and I might die, I might…”

“Charles,” Erik says sharply, with enough force to stop the verbal diarrhea that seems to have gripped Charles. Charles moves his face from where it’s buried in Erik’s chest and looks up at his friend, expecting to see anger and hatred and seeing something entirely different. Charles freezes, not wanting to move, not wanting to lose this moment, in case he’s just imagining things.

“I want this,” Erik says softly, gazing down at him. “You can’t imagine how much I want this.”

Charles’ chest clenches and his breath hitches and the rain is still pouring down as Erik bends his head and captures Charles’ mouth in his and there is nothing hesitant about this kiss. It’s dark, long, intense and all consuming and Charles moans into Erik’s mouth and presses himself against his best friend.

Thunder rumbles overhead followed by a huge streak of lightening, making both of them jump, but they don’t stop kissing, wrapped around each other, soaking wet, covered in mud, bedraggled, breathing hard from their race across the estate grounds, and this is nothing short of amazing.

Erik breaks the kiss and pulls back, cradling Charles’ face in his square hands, kissing Charles on the forehead then the nose and laughing.

“How?” Charles asks, wanting to know how it could be that he could almost accidentally kiss his best friend and it could actually be real and good, and he’s not being punched in the face but held in a manner that is strangely gentle for Erik, who is usually all intensity and tension and this is so soft and caring.

“It’s simple. I like boys,” Erik says softly, “I lied to you. I didn’t get beat tonight because I didn’t finish my chores. My foster father found my stash of gay porn. He’s kicked me out of the house, which is why I came to you. I knew you would take me in, that you’re my friend. Until you kissed me, I never dreamed it could be more. I mean, I did dream. I dreamed every night, but you kissed me and then you ran, and I thought you hated me, that I’d somehow projected onto you, that I’d forced you….”

“Hate you?” Charles laughs. “I can’t hate you, Erik Lehnsherr.” His hands are running up and down Erik’s chest, not sure where to stop, amazed to have permission to touch. “You’re my friend. I like you. No…” Charles pauses, wanting to say what he knows to be true, then deciding he’s going to tell his friend even if . “I love you. I love you, Erik.” and the words are so thrilling to say that Charles has to say them again, his tone full of the wonder of it all, “Oh my god, I LOVE you.”

Charles is bubbling and exuberant, crawling out of his skin with happiness, and Erik watches him, dazed. Then slowly he smiles, then the smile becomes laugh, a great laugh filled with joy and he pulls Charles into his arms crushing him to his chest, burying his face into Charles soaked hair, soaking it further with his tears, and muttering words like _my love_ , and _I can't believe this_ , over and over. Charles is spinning, or is that the brandy still in his system.

He lifts his head up and watches the sky rumble with thunder and another streak of lightning, so close it feels like he might be able to reach up and touch it, and the air around them crackles with electricity, and good lord, if they don’t get back to the house quickly, they might end up getting electrocuted, although Charles thinks he’s so happy he might be able to die right now.

~fin~


End file.
